Death to the False Emperor
by IlliterateDude
Summary: Three hundred years ago, The Scour sealed off a thousand star systems from the Republic. Now, in the waxing days of Darth Sidious's New Order, the Scour is fading. The long night has begun. The Galaxy will burn and the Heavens will bleed. All hail Horus Lupercal! (Summary: Instead of killing Horus, the God-Emperor blasts the Chaos out of him, teleporting him to the SW galaxy.)
1. Factions of the Galactic Civil War pt 1

Factions of the Galactic Civil War Part One

**The Principate**

History: _From A Condensed Political Primer on the Galactic Civil War -The Principate_

When the nascent corporate sector was choked off from the known galaxy in 248 BBY by a massive warp storm (as the great Horus calls it), the region quickly disintegrated into a plethora of warring fiefdoms run by former corporate executives and their security forces. Given that the sector was barely a decade old, not much of the economy had been transplanted there and life continued on as usual in the greater galaxy. Not so for those trapped in this corporatist hell. Food and hope were as scarce as violence and brutality were common amidst the polluted pre-fab skylines of this corporatist dystopia.

All this changed in 200 BBY, when Horus arrived on the mining world now known only as deliverance. With mace and powered armor, he slaughtered the most oppressive and cruel of the overseers. With silvered tongue and uncanny wit, he reconciled the remaining overseers and serfs into a cohesive society. One of the younger and more militant laborers, Vaas Montenegro, who was among the first to side with Horus would later ascend to the rank of Legion Master of the X Legion.

Due to a bitter territory war between the former Geonosian industrial concern and the former Kuat Systems concern, the loss of this mining world went unnoticed for two years. By that time, Horus had set up a reasonable facsimile of functioning society. When the Kuat systems security force finally arrived, they were swayed to Horus's side with sweet promises of glory and the long lost sight of functioning, rational civilization. Many of the officers of Horus's Legio Astartes were drawn from the ranks of these first defectors to his cause.

Fifty years later, through a combination of charisma, diplomatic skills, and war-fighting prowess, the entirety of the corporate sector bowed to Horus. After that, Horus turned his superhuman mind to ensuring a hundred years of geometric population and economic growth through a constantly shifting and often time contradictory mixture of free enterprise and socialist command economy. He and his scientists also produced miraculous technologies such as the age reversing elixir (juvenat), mind-impulse links, non-hyperspace FTL, and more that would later astound the greater galaxy.

Life under the Principate was materially easy but ideologically strict. Basic amenities were provided to all under Horus's regime. However, crime, particularly those incidents involving religious extremism, were dealt with in extremely draconian fashion. Citizens were also subjected to non-stop propaganda about the evils of blind rage, despair and decay, hedonism and excess, conspiracy, and Chaos. Further aggrandizements were made against artificial intelligence and uncontrolled telepaths. To this day, no one knows why the great Horus is so insistent on demonizing these abstract concepts or non-issues like droid rebellions and rogue force users*. Yet for all his eccentricities, it is clear that he is amongst the greatest leaders to walk this galaxy.

*Reader's Note: Scrawled in blood on the pages are the words: "NOW WE KNOW, THEY KNOW US TOO" trailed by incoherent jumbles of galactic basic.

Forces: From _Military History 240: Armies of the Galactic Civil War_

Of course, given the far smaller size of the Principate's industrial base relative to the Empire, its military relied on its (literally) superhumanly intelligent commanders, near unbreakable morale, and exotic technologies to carry the day.

The military of the Principate was and is still split into four organizations: the ten Space Marine legions, the Auxiliary legions, the Allied legions, and the Ordinatii legions. Horus has cryptically remarked that he has modeled his military after "the expeditionary fleets of the old Great Crusade" but has never clarified what this statement means.

The diamond hard core of the Principate's military is the Legio Astartes, the Space Marine legions. Heavily gene-modded warriors clad in awesome suits of powered armor and armed with what would be considered crew served weapons by most races, these warriors excel in boarding actions, urban warfare, and orbital drop assaults, where heavy weaponry cannot be brought to bear against them. It is said that the Space Marines can fight for a month without food or sleep, spit steel dissolving acid, outthink the finest strategic computers, and read the minds of their foes by devouring them. Whatever the truth is, the doom of many a world has been pre-saged by the sonic booms of Astartes drop pods entering the atmosphere in a blizzard of chaff and flares.

For all the attention focused on the Legio Astartes, it is the Allied and Auxiliary legions that comprise the bulk of the fighting forces of the Principate. Auxiliary legion soldiers are drafted from human and alien citizens and clad in lightweight cloth based armor known as flak, which also conceals thermal signatures. Scouts often eschew additional protection but most troopers insert hard armor plates inside the cloth layers or wear semi-powered carapace armor for heavy protection and fire power. For armaments, the soldiers of the Principate eschew blaster weaponry for laser and ballistic weapons and often have an unhealthy obsession with flame and explosive weapons*. These eccentric weapons preferences also carry over to the Principate's vehicles. Principate vehicles often rely on ballistic weapons, citing the ability for midcourse guidance correction and increased versatility from variable warheads. Additionally, tracked and wheeled propulsion are used for less mobile systems such as heavy tanks or artillery. This insistence on reliability and versatility across all elements of military though often paid off against more rigid and high technology reliant forces like the Imperial Army.

The Allied legions, which are coming to comprise an ever increasing portion of the Principate's forces are a mish mash of local forces, freedom fighters, Imperial defectors, ex-separatists, and other armed groups that have thrown in with the Principate. The equipment load of these forces is quite eclectic and quite often is comprised of the bazaar of diverse weapons systems developed by the Grand Army of the Republic and Confederacy of Independent Systems during the Clone Wars. It was not an uncommon sight to see Principate naval squadrons of ex-separatist frigates led by _Venator _or _Tector _class star destroyers crewed by ex-republic navy personnel. These rag tag forces were supervised by Auxiliary Legion or Astartes political officers, and later Mandalorian officers after Horus was declared Mandalore the Conqueror in 6ABY, to ensure unity and combat effectiveness. However, it was largely Horus's charisma and diplomatic skills that made this diverse and contradictory force a far more cohesive and effective entity than it had any right to be.

If the Astartes could be viewed as the razor point of the Principate war machine and the Auxiliary/Allied legions as its anvil, then the Ordinatii legions could be seen as its war hammer. Under the Ordinatii's jurisdiction were all war engines of the Principate. War engines were a classification of vehicle that Principate planners felt could win battles or wars on their own. And beneath the shadows of these mighty war machines marched battalions of cyborg soldiers known as the Metallica Trucidators. Bulked with countless stimulants and drugs, augmented with fully body cybernetics, and lobotomized of their ability to fear, these super soldiers herald the onset of steel and fire and death. Whether the death would come in the form of towering Titan battle walkers, super-heavy siege guns, submersible aircraft carriers, WMD-equipped ICBM launchers, or more esoteric machines like psychic mind-frayers or massive subterranean APCs, one cannot say. But like the rest of the Principate military, all signify death.

**The Galactic Empire**

From [REDACTED]

Emerging from the ashes of the corrupt and stagnant Republic like a Phoenix from the ashes, the New Order promised a thousand years of order, security, and stability for a war torn galaxy. Under the seemingly pre-cognizant rule of Emperor Palpatine, separatist hold outs, violent minor species, and pirate fleets were snuffed out one after the other. For a while it looked like peace and prosperity would return to the galaxy, under the gaze of a stronger, more efficient government. And the people loved him for it.

Those that did not, disappeared, for Palpatine's security state was as effective as it was immense. Vast fleets of mighty arrow-head Star Destroyers prowl the stars, carrying the Emperor's will in the form in the form of legions of mechanized infantry, mysterious dark side adepts, indoctrinated spies, and scruple-less mercenaries. Across the hyper waves, countless technicians and propagandists strangled the ideological enemies of the New Order as efficiently as its armies and fleets vaporized its physical enemies with turbolaser fire. Such is the power of Palpatine's information warriors that the august order of the Jedi Knights has passed into legend within a generation.

Ironically, despite the unity and efficiency of its military and security forces, the Galactic Empire's populace is striven by hate, fear, and greed. Under the dark guidance of Emperor Palpatine and his secret Sith ideology, conflict and strife became the "New Order" of the day. Child against parent; corporation against worker; human against alien; general against admiral; governor against moff. In these times, the galaxy has become a discordant symphony of madness and suffering all for the depraved amusement of its shriveled conductor.

Yet amidst it all, there are whispers that Palpatine is not the real power behind the throne. Rumors abound that in the darkest depths of the Imperial Palace, one can heart the tortured screams and the sibilant voices of nightmares made reality echoing through the obsidian halls…

Forces of the Galactic Empire: From _Military History 240: Armies of the Galactic Civil War_

Continuing off from Military History 230: Post Clone Wars Military Reform, the Galactic Empire is divided into the Imperial Navy, the Imperial Army, and the Imperial Stormtrooper corps. The Imperial military by the time of contact with the Principate was an evolution rather than revolution in military design. It was a Tibanna gas and Ion weapon based military that focused on infantry mass and aerial power. However, because the Empire geared its forces towards intimidation rather than military efficiency, it suffered many humiliating and embarrassing defeats in the early battles of the war.

One example of the Empire's failed intimidation doctrine is the AT-ST. Its designers intended for it to be used to tower over and panic groups of insurgents and rioters. Its prodigious height of 8.6 meters and distinctive clanking noises made it easy prey for Principate heavy weapons and restricted it from actually engaging in infantry support in close quarters fighting or scouting. On the other hand, the Principate's Sentinel walker was actually capable of infantry support at a height of 4 meters and served well as a scout due to noise reduction features built into the design. Imperial units were thus forced to revert back to proven designs like the AT-PT.

The Principate's access to never before seen technologies was also a challenge for the Imperial military. Power armor technology such as the Corellian Powersuit was quite under-developed in the era before the Principate. What suits the greater galaxy did have were crude, unwieldy exo-skeletal affairs rigged with servo-motors and motion sensors rather than synthetic musculature and mind impulse units. Thus, the arrival of the Legio Astartes was an unpleasant shock for the Imperial military. Close encounters with these impossibly agile armored giants generally ended with the Imperial infantry force left as bleeding pieces of meat. An Imperial response: well armored, heavily armed, and agile, was needed.

Two solutions to the Legio Astartes were created. The first was Beemon Cybernetic Laboratories' Cybertrooper. Drawn from injured veterans of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps, these soldiers had their spines and limbs enhanced with cybernetic strength augments for the sole purpose of carrying heavy anti-Astartes weaponry. Common weapons load-outs for these cyber troopers consisted of RPS-6 rocket launchers akimbo or the newly developed Rothana Heavy Engineering X-2 30 mm railgun. Despite the heavy weaponry, these troopers were severely unprotected, physically weak, and slow compared to the Astartes and still suffered brutally against them in CQC. However, these units were murder on the mortal rank and file of the Principate.

Seeing an opportunity to revive his Dark Trooper project after Principate abuse of force (or warp as the Principate refers to it) powers and logic viruses to spoof battle droids had rendered the project obsolete, General Rom Mohc suggested the Dark Trooper IV (Mechanized Exoskeletal Cybersuit). Built from dura steel rather than the extremely rare phrik alloy, this mass production exo-suit was developed from the Phase III prototype with close quarters and melee combat in mind. Knowing that Imperial science could not replicate the black carapace or mind impulse unit, Mohc opted to use stimulants and machine to machine interfaces. Dangerous replacement surgeries were done on the spines and limbs of violent criminals. These men were then plugged into the suits and pumped full of stimulants before being thrown at combat zones with known Space Marine presence. Needless to say, even if they prevailed, the stimulants would stop their hearts cold within a half day. A textbook case of Imperial justice.

Whatever the moral case, the combined deployments of cybertroopers and MEC Dark Troopers helped stem the tide of uncontested Astartes victories. Then Horus unveiled the Terminator armor and the personal teleporter and…

[ATTENTION VALUED READER; YOUR FREE TRIAL ENDS HERE; CLICK HERE TO ORDER THE REST OF THE E-BOOK FOR A SPECIAL OFFER OF 160 CREDITS]


	2. Prologue: Sunset of the Long Night

Prologue: Sunset of the Long Night

2 ABY, Koronis System

The INS _Iron Fist _burst from hyperspace in a blinding shower of tachyonic particles; seventeen kilometers of midnight black armor plate studded with countless of apartment sized gun turrets. Alone, the mighty vessel could raze entire sub-sectors and shatter fleets, and it was not alone. Behind it scores of blood red vessels materialized into real space. Packs of lesser star destroyers loped after the _Iron Fist_ like bloodhounds after a Dire-wolf. Colossal cargo ships, holds bursting at the seams with warrior and war machine trailed behind.

This was the armada of Grand Admiral Zsinj, Warlord of the Empire. Brought here by a single garbled transmission.

+To any Republic personnel, this is ***zzt*** found a *zzt* way ***zzt*** Great Storm o- ***zzt*** Koronis ***zzt*+

Zsinj's eyes narrowed as he replayed that fateful transmission from three weeks ago. Then he stared out through the armor-glass windows of the _Iron Fist's _bridge, stared at the Great Storm, the Scour.

Zsinj twitched impulsively as he considered the nightmarish scene before him. The Scour was an unexplainable stellar phenomenon that had swallowed the Corporate Sector some two hundred and fifty years ago. A thousand sectors had been lost behind the thousand light year wide curtain of impossible cosmic energy.

Countless theories and tales had been created over the years, trying to explain the origin of The Scour, each more ridiculous and disturbing than the last. Any and all known attempts to deeply study The Scour over the past two hundred fifty years had ended with the researchers in question committed to an insane asylum, deliriously raving about the taste of the colors or the divine voices that spoke to them in the night. Zsinj shifted uncomfortably as he swore that the shadows in his command bridge were growing taller and… twisting.

He shook his head. The phenomenon was gone. Zsinj did not consider himself a superstitious man, but in his heart of hearts he shuddered to think of what unfathomable power could ensconce a thousand inhabited systems in such a long night of madness.

_Focus on the mission_, he mentally chided himself.

"Number two, take us into orbit of the third planet in the system. Order the fleet to assume patrol position and bring the construction rigs up." He barked. That's right, Zsinj was here to make contact with, and if necessary contain whatever… things crawled out of The Scour into the Koronis sector. A garrison and patrol mission. Simple enough for him.

"Yes sir"

As one the mighty armada dissolved into a mass of picket formations, deploying sensors and mines at pre-planned locations or sweeping the system for possible contacts. The _Iron Fist _positioned itself over the fifth world of the system, an uninhabited terrestrial world in the habitable zone, guarding the cargo ships as they disgorged pre-fabricated bases, army soldiers, and construction gear. In time they would turn Koronis V into a fortress rivaling that of Corida or any of the New Order's fortress worlds.

They would never get that time.

Twenty one standard hours after planet fall, the _Victory _class star destroyer _Indomitable_ discovered a concealed corvette in the asteroid belt. When the unidentified ship failed to respond to hails and attempted to exit the system, the _Indomitable _destroyed it in a hail of turbo-laser fire, but not before it unleashed a highly encrypted hyperwave transmission.

Twenty two and a half hours later, the salvage teams tell of near human giants in mechanized plate drifting amongst the wreckage. The _Indomitable _is ordered out of system to bring the corpses and useful salvage out of system.

Ninety three standard hours and twenty eight minutes later, and Zsinj's crypto analysts still had not made any progress towards revealing the meaning of the message. Ninety three standard hours and twenty nine minutes later the distinctive flare of hyperspace exit signatures flashed across the Kuiper belt of the star system.

Scores of pearl white warships flashed into existence, each a cyclopean mass of gun ports and armor plate fashioned in the form of brutish hammers. The largest was a match for even his _Iron Fist_. Zsinj's eyes narrowed as he scanned the enemy dreadnaught. Imagery of a lupine beast devouring a crescent moon and golden two headed hunting birds flashed before him everywhere he looked.

A dozen theories about the meaning of these symbols, about the origins and intentions of these unknown ships, flashed through his head.

"They're hailing us sir" Zsinj's communications officer stated.

"Patch it through Ensign Kennan" the Grand Admiral ordered.

"Voice only sir. Playing it through bridge speakers"

An inhumanly deep rumbled through the shipboard communicators. "This is Brother-Captain Grenaldus Cthon of the Principate. You have much to answer for."

~I~

250 Years Ago

"_But you're going to die"_

"_I know" _

…

_In hindsight, the Architect wished he had died then, keeled over in front of Kai Zulane. He would never have to see this soul searing scene in person; but he had his duty, his duty to his people. It was the only thing that kept his flame burning after so long; millennia after everything he loved had turned to ash either by flame or the inexorable march of time. _

_The Architect slowly sucked another agonizing breath, blood gushing into his lungs in torrents with each second. Tears, stained crimson with the shattered dreams of a people, with the despair of a failed father, rolled down olive toned patrician cheekbones. In his right hand he gripped a flaming sword, raising it to strike the death blow on his opponent. _

_The broken form of his enemy crawled across the floor, any trace of composure or dignity lost. His armor was rent in a hundred places, ethereal wisps of smoke emanated from scores of unnatural wounds. The enemy crawled across the obsidian floor, sobbing and sniffling incoherently as he slowly made his way to a savaged yet still beatific corpse. _

"_Brother… Brother… wake up… wake up… I didn't mean to… please… please… WAKE UP!" the broken warlord sobbed, hysterical denial seeping into every syllable. _

_Cradling the corpse in his arms, he looked up at the Architect, one eye a waterfall of tears, the other a half cauterized crater of blood and meat._

"_Father… brother won't wake up. Won't you help me wake him up?" the architect's son asked, his one good eye glazing over. _

_A quartet of hideous, mocking, immaterial voices echoed in the Architect's mind. They goaded him with visions of a hideous, rotting future. They dared him to kill his son, reveling in his anguish as a father. In his heart of hearts, the Architect knew that it would come to this, it had to, it was fated. _

_A flash, a divergence in the tapestry of fate blinked before his eyes. Or was it? _

_The Architect's Sword cracked as an influx of raw power, more power than any creature in a sane universe had right to possess, flooded into it. The vibrant orange halo of flame that sheathed the blade flickered only to be replaced by a sickly riot of impossible colors. _

"_Your brother believed in you. Remember that."_

_The blade fell._

_~I~_

2 ABY, Etti Prime (former sector capital of the Corporate Sector), now known as Deliverance

The banner of the 1st legion was that of a gold encased drop of blood pinioned ensconced by angelic feathered wings. A perfect symbol for Angels of Death, for the Blood Angels Legion, 10th company captain Captain Tyrus Loken mused as his legion mustered into parade position. The entirety of the 1st Legion assembled on the grand plaza of the Lion's Gate star-port, ten thousand super soldiers snapped into perfect parade formation, weapons raised and banners fluttering majestically. Beside them tens of thousands more gene-enhanced warriors marched into position, behind them millions of mortal soldiery massed.

The choreography of this grand troop muster was sublime; formation after formation of soldiers marched in lockstep unison, each mass foot fall a titanic thunder clap. The skies overhead were thick with the whirring screams of engines as countless aircraft soared through the air; the air was alive with cargo haulers, troop transports, fighters, and other myriad craft descending and ascending from the armada in orbit. And what an armada it was. Sub-lunar space was crowded with the imposing shadows of tens of thousands of starships. This was a force designed to conquer the galaxy, and this was exactly what they had mustered here to do.

"Soldiers of the Principate! Attention!" an impossibly baritone voice boomed across the mega-speakers installed across the square. Loken's throat tightened in anticipation as the First Citizen, ascended the dais.

"Comrades! Brothers! Today is the beginning of a new age! Three hundred years ago our realm was cut off from the galaxy by The Scour. Two hundred and twenty two years ago the people of this realm rose up against the techno-corporatist despots in righteous jihad. That was a moment of glory, of justice..."

The First Citizen pumped his vast fist in the air as a flight of fighters sailed overhead in flawless parade formation. The First Citizen's impassioned oratory never ceased to impress Captain Loken, it was almost magical; disciplined soldiers broke down, cheering, eyes ablaze with passion as the First Citizen's mouth unleashed words faster than their hearts could comprehend them. Within a minute, every single one of them would have charged the gates of hell for their commander, no, their God-King.

"…For centuries we have waited, eager for the Scour to recede, eager to rejoin the galaxy at large! But now we have discovered that galactic order has been usurped by a mad despot! This False Emperor has destroyed the peace of this galaxy by sowing terror and war panic! He has torn asunder the unity of the stellar nations by allowing discord and warlords to rule! He has squandered the prosperity of the people on monuments to his ego and sorceries most foul! I say that the Principate cannot and will not stand for this! Today my brothers, the Great Crusade begins! For glory! For justice! Death to the False Emperor!"

"For the First Citizen! For Horus Lupercal!" One of the mortal commanders screamed through a bullhorn. Within moments the parade ground was a mass of delirious, howling men.

"HORUS! HORUS! HORUS! HORUS! HORUS!"

~I~

Author's Notes:

I've always thought that Horus Lupercal deserved more show time in 40k fanfiction. So that's why I decided to write a story about how Worst Dad of the Year couldn't bring himself to kill the prodigal son with... interesting consequences for the place he's banished to.

As a note, none of the names of things like Legion names, numbers, weapons names, or organization of the Principality will be the same as the Imperium's. This is because the Principality is Horus making shit up with what he has on hand.

For all of y'all unfamiliar with Warhammer 40k or Horus Lupercal, the basic gist of the story is that 30,000 years in the future a 50,00 year old God made from the fusion of thousands of insanely powerful human psychics declares himself Emperor attempts to reunite humanity, which got their hyper advanced post-singularity civilization wrecked by a machine uprising. The Emperor creates 20 super human sons using genetic engineering and magic but they get scattered across the galaxy by a pantheon of Dark Gods. But he uses their templates to create millions of super soldiers called Asatrtes or Space Marines. The first to be rediscovered is Horus Lupercal who eventually becomes no. 2 in the Imperium of Man and is the best son basically.

Then things happen, the Dark Gods corrupt Horus and 8 of his brothers and humanity gets wrecked again. The pivotal scene (in italics) is when Horus faces down the Emperor with the power of the Dark Gods. In canon he gets killed but here he gets dumped in the SW universe and recreates a facsimile of the Imperium called the Principate and attempts galactic conquest.

Hope that explains things!


	3. Chapter 1: Wolves Unleashed

I hope this is nostalgic for everyone who played Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. RIP Taris.

~I~

War for Taris: Wolves Unleashed

5 ABY, Taris, Ojoster Sector

Thousands of years ago, the city-planet of Taris had been decimated by the Sith Lord Darth Malak, its once gleaming spires blasted into half melted lumps of smoking metal, its entire population liquidated by blinding columns of stellar fire just to kill one man.

In times past, teeming billions populated this jewel of the outer rim, drawn to its vibrant culture and commerce. Critically situated on the Hydian way, one of the five great hyper lanes of the galaxy, Taris was now critical to the Principate's efforts to push into the core worlds and secure the northern outer rim. Indeed, once Taris fell, the entire northern outer rim would fall to the forces of Hous Lupercal in short order.

Now, save for the massive garrison of New Order soldiers entrenched in the planet and hideously mutated wildlife, it was a graveyard world. And so 2nd Captain Grenaldus Cthon of the Black Legion, Lupercal's Own, had free reign to gleefully repeat the tragedies of history.

Even before the orbital bombardment again, the atmosphere of Taris had tasted the onset of nuclear winter as the burning hulks of defeated warships and their cremated crews crashed into the dilapidated skyscrapers that covered the benighted surface of the planet like steel moss. Large swathes of Taris's polluted, vestigial seas had already begun to freeze over as vast clouds of carcinogenic ash and nerve gas began to blot out the sun. Molten gashes were riven across the planet where kinetic accelerators and turbolaser fire had managed to melt through the kilometer high urban sprawl and into the bedrock. Those parts of the planet that had not yet burned from orbit were constant hotspots of seismic activity as Principate and Imperial kill teams brought kilometer high spires crashing down as they murdered each other in brutal city fighting.

Taris was the spitting image of industrialized hell after a mere two weeks of fighting.

And Grenaldus loved every minute of it.

The 2nd captain and a dozen of the 2nd company's assault marines plunged through the roof of an old hydroponics garden, its crop turned to ash thousands of years ago, in a spray of masonry and dust. Torrents of blaster fire and tube launched grenades met their descent, but the soldiers of Palpatine were too slow. In the span of two seconds, the augmented Luna Wolves squad had killed two dozen Stormtroopers and Imperial army troops with their bolt pistols. Chainswords revved and power weapons crackled to life as the slaughter truly began.

Grenaldus landed on a heavy weapons team, crushing the E-web heavy repeating blaster beneath his boots before bisecting the two stormtroopers manning it with a single stroke of his crackling power whip, five meters of hyper-alloy cable, forged by the gene-father himself, crackling with demented purple electricity as it sliced through bone, flesh, and armor. He smirked as the smell of flash boiled meat and blood filtered in his nostrils.

"Grenades out, pattern delta!" the captain yelled, as 20 mm shells and blaster bolts zipped across the room.

A pair of blaster bolts streaked towards his face, only to be repulsed by the personal deflector shield installed in the collar of his armor. All the while he appreciated the sight of other stormtroopers being thrown into the air like charred rag dolls by grenade explosions. A small trail of drool trailed down his chin as he sought to close to melee range with the foe.

He was smiling as his whip cut through the pillar next to the offending stormtrooper, crushing him with a satisfying squelch beneath a quarter ton of masonry.

*CRACK*

He was giggling as a fire-team of Stormtroopers stared dumbly as their fore arms slid off their elbows before he decapitated them all with one flick of the wrist.

*SNAP* SNAP* *SNAP*

He was laughing as nearly a score of cybertroopers, mechanically enhanced and genebulked stormtroopers clad in heavy carapace armor, stormed up the stairwell into the hydroponics garden, heavy blaster repeaters cycling.

*CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK*

He was howling hysterically as he carved up the elite of the New Order. By the time he was messily ripping the heart out of the last cybertrooper, tears of mirth were streaming from his face.

Despite all odds, the fallen trooper was still alive and semi-cognizant, his helmet fallen to the wayside revealing a blonde youth, no more than 25 by the Captain's guess. Grenaldus leered at him predatorily, his long canines gleaming.

"Tell me, dog of the False Emperor. Do you know the reason why our armor is black?" he asked.

The imperial gurgled blood as he spoke, "V-ventooine, you m-monsters"

"Close, but no dice. The darkness of our armor represents the new moon, the light of the new moon represents the hopes of our enemies, which is to say, none." Grenaldus chuckled as he snapped the stormtrooper's neck with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

Beneath the red haze of bloodlust, Grenaldus's gene-forged mind was taking stock of the situation. Aside from the fallen Brother Tychos who had taken a thermal detonator to the face and a half dozen E-web blasts to the stomach, none had taken more than superficial injuries. Around them nearly eight score Imperials lay, broken and savaged. Those that remained alive were being executed by the bloodthirsty Black Legionaries.

Grenaldus stared out of a hole in the wall at a vast ten story shield array the Empire's siege engineers had built over the flattened remains of some ancient Tarisian living complex: his objective. Once the shield array fell, the headquarters of the remaining Imperial armies on the southern continent would fall. Attack vectors, simulated battle plans, and estimated force compositions cycled through his post human mind in the span of time it took a normal human to decide what to eat for breakfast.

Suddenly the world went white as a massive explosion rocked the energy shield. Within a second, the occulobe implant in his eyes adjusted for the rapid influx of light. He noted that a minute portion of the deflector shield, just large enough to fit a light repulsor tank through was flickering.

That was enough.

Another blinding flash of light, this time accompanied by a subtly off smell of ozone, crossed Grenaldus's field of view. Almost three score of the 1st company's Terminators had teleported into the plaza beneath the shield generator

And at their head was a God, resplendent in white and blue livery.

As soon as Horus Lupercal's impossibly baritone voice emanated from the vox net, Grenaldus and his handpicked assault squad were in motion, howling war cries as they tossed themselves out of the building they were in, jet packs flaring to life. They would redeem themselves in the eyes of the Gene-Father or die trying.

~I~

Codex Entry: Luna Wolves/Black Legion Part 1

Of all of the Principate's post-human killing machines, none are more feared than Lupercal's own, Legion X, the Black Legion. Where the other Astartes legions may specialize in artisanry, diplomacy, swordsmanship, technical expertise, the Black Legion are renowned for their sheer savagery and ruthlesness. This is reflected in their exemplary combat records, which in many cases resulted in the opposing force electing to surrender rather than face the sadistic attentions of the X Legion.

Originally, the ten Astartes legions were nominally independent entities as Horus Lupercal elected to directly command a non-augmented force or mortals with ceremonial Astartes units rotated in from all ten legions, but the legion's disgraceful actions on Ventooine forced the Warmaster to change this attitude.

Warmaster Horus had ordered the then Luna Wolves legion to take the mines and mineral deposits of this world of mountains and mesas intact. Then 1st Captain and Legion Master, Vaas Montenegro chose to interpret those orders literally. During the campaign the 912th and 307th sector armies, augmented by five stormtrooper legions, decided to fortify themselves in a nearly impenetrable peninsular mountain range on the western continent. This resulted in a three month siege in which tempers among the legion and the attached Principate auxiliary legions flared to a breaking point.

By the third week of the third month, intelligence had filtered in that an Imperial relief armada of vast size was mere weeks out from Ventooine. The X Legion would not be able to hold out whilst still deployed in siege formation. A furious Legion Master Vaas, unwilling to suffer the disgrace of retreat, gave the order to commence what would hence be known as the Tymirri Dropsite Massacre.

The Legion's senior officers, logis engines, and mortal strtaegists had come to one conclusion. The peninsular siege army did not have enough manpower to storm the fortress and retain enough fighting power to beat back the Imperial relief force. However, the Legion had over two and a half million auxiliaries deployed in garrisons across the planet and more importantly, 500,000 tons of nerve gas.

Vaas noted that the natives of Ventooine had decidedly pro-Imperial tendencies and had been tying down his mortal auxiliaries in a brutal guerrilla campaign. He decided he could kill two birds with one stone and ordered the bulk of the garrisons transferred to the peninsula. Early in the morning of the 5th day of the eleventh week of the Siege of Ventooine, Vaas ordered the mass deployment of nerve gas on the planet's population centers. Three days later at Tymirri, a city of 1.24 million on the doorstep of the peninsula, a different approach was taken.

Two days later, V Company under Captain Pyrhus Tecumseh set the eastern half of the city ablaze, funneling the panicked population past the Legion's siege lines and into the killzones of the 912th and 307th armies' mountain redoubts. The commander of the 912th, a career veteran from the Clone Wars, ordered the gates open to accommodate the civilian populace.

It was then that the Luna Wolves struck. Ninety six thousand artillery rounds hit the fortress in the first minute alone, then drop pods filled with nearly 3,000 posthuman soldier and automated turret alike pounded into the fortress pulping Imperial soldiers and civilians alike. At the same time, the mortal auxiliary legions made their move. Millions of mortal soldiers and tens of thousands of tanks rolled into battle, heedless of who they trampled beneath their boots and tracks.

Within a fortnight, the 912th and 307th were crushed and their redoubts taken. The X Legion and its supporting elements later wiped out the Imperial relief armada in what would come to be known as one of the most brilliant naval victories in galactic history.

Only one in ten thousand of Ventooine's citizens survived the siege.

Nine hundred light years away, negotiations between Horus Lupercal and the Alliance to Restore the Republic broke down completely as news of what the X Legion had done propagated across the galaxy. The Galactic Empire's own approval ratings spiked nearly 25% in parts of the inner and mid rim in less than a week. The Great Crusade slowed from a New Order rout into a grinding war of attrition as the Empire's soldiers fought with renewed zeal and public opinion hardened against the Principate.

Horus's flagship, the Red Tear, made it to Ventooine in an utterly impossible five days. Many believe that the Warmaster's transcendent rage literally propelled the ship through hyper space.


	4. Chapter 2: Rak'Ghoul

**War for Taris II:**

Base Bravo-2 was the lynchpin fortification of the Galactic Empire's defenses on Taris; a bristling, sprawling redoubt of countless artillery batteries, bunkers, and missile launchers surrounded by a veritable sea of razor wire and tank traps. Inside this redoubt, the 93rd combined Stormtrooper army waited: two hundred twenty-five thousand veteran soldiers backed by nineteen-thousand repulsor-lift AFVs of various make and three thousand AT series walkers.

To Horus Lupercal, they were nothing but chaff.

The over-sized 50 mm storm-bolter attached to the lightning claw, _Talon of Horus II_ spat mass-reactive death, eviscerating entire squads of infantry and light IFVs alike with contemptuous ease. In his right hand the massive power mace, _Worldbreaker_, the only remaining artifact of his previous life, flashed in and out of existence as it turned men into crimson jelly and crumpled tank armor like cardboard.

Scores of enemy soldiers died as the Primarch simply trampled them into paste beneath the multi-ton bulk of his Terminator armor, plastering his once spotless ivory white armor in a thick layer of red gore. Even as he massacred entire platoons of New Order soldiers, the Primarch was running a planetary war solely through his armor's communication and data processing suite.

Horus leapt towards a charging AT-ST and smashed the armored cockpit from its legs with a casual swing from _Worldbreaker_, leaving the two spindly legs to topple comically to the ground. The next continent over, Principate forces were initiating a textbook perfect encirclement of an Imperial infantry army under Horus's transmitted orders.

The warrior demi-God barely stifled a yawn.

With a hand gesture, Horus ordered four of his missile rack equipped Terminator honor guards to open fire as a squad of 2-M Repulsor Tanks rammed through a dilapidated wall at the far end of the plaza. A pair of Terminators died, torsos vaporized by the venerable Rothana Heavy Engineering anti-tank laser cannons. As he flicked his hand, he was already listing off accelerations and maneuvers needed for a trio of Principate _Venator _class star destroyers to catch the _Imperial I_ class star destroyer, _Indomitable_, in a pincer. Moments later a barrage of Krak armor piercing missiles smashed through the tanks' shields and detonated their reactors.

Behind them the sibilant hiss of melta explosives and the torturous screech of twisting metal indicated the success of Grenaldus's 2nd company honor guard. The primary shield generator tower for Base Bravo-2 came crashing down in an avalanche of durasteel and concrete. Already explosions were rippling across the base as the Principate army's artillery savaged the now exposed New Order fortifications.

In the distance, the roar of tank engines could be heard as Horus's un-augmented soldiers prepared to storm the base. In the polluted, dying sky, pinpricks of flame, X Legion Astartes drop pods, grew brighter amidst an artificial blizzard of sensor distorting chaff and thermal smoke. Far in the distance, the burning carcass the _Indomitable _slowly fell to earth; daylight illuminated the 93rd Storm trooper army for the first and last time since nuclear winter had set in on this graveyard world.

Thirty minutes ago, an augmented mechanized brigade had guarded the plaza surrounding the base's primary deflector shield generator. Now there was naught more than a field of charred meat and broken machines interspersed with gently smoking craters. Horus grunted in approval as his plan came to fruition.

Amidst Taris's dense, dilapidated urban concentration, it was impossible for a mere mortal force to secure any fortification entirely. Horus had exploited this flaw to the hilt by stealthily inserting Black Legion Scouts into critical chokepoints across the city. He knew that once the main shield generator fell that the New Order's soldiers would follow the rational course of action and retreat to the component sub-fortresses of the base which had their own, lesser shield generators.

Horus estimated that one in thirty would make it to safety.

The likely escape routes had been turned into kill-zones by the Scouts and Assault Marines of the Black Legion or designated as landing zones for Astartes reinforcements. Decaying skyscrapers collapsed on top of armored columns of combat walkers and hover tanks. Perfectly timed Astartes drop pod assaults into retreating columns of stormtroopers turned the dusty, haunted streets of Taris into scorched, cratered mass graves. The panicked survivors stumbled into brutal ambushes where they were ripped apart by sniper fire and howling chainsaw weaponry. What was supposed to be a tactical retreat was rapidly devolving into a massacre.

For a mortal commander, this day would have been the crowning pinnacle of skill and acumen. To Horus, it was merely another day in his tortured existence. In truth he had not come here to wage such a meaningless war for a dead world nor to babysit the coven of bloodthirsty psychopaths who shared his gene-seed.

He snarled. The new Astartes he created in this galaxy with his gene seed had a disturbing tendency to end up damaged in the head, drunk on bloodlust. It was as if the ghosts of Konrad Curze and Angron De'shea were haunting his progeny. Two centuries of genetic research had not helped him find the answer to this predicament. He suspected that it was the workings of those deceitful Gods of Chaos or worse yet, a curse levied upon him by his family.

Horus banished those thoughts with a shake his head. He was far beyond the Ruinous powers or his family in this galaxy. It was more important was to verify whether the prophetic dreams he had had of this place were real. He had come here to find ancient Sith artifacts belonging to a Sith Lord by the name of Sorzyus Syn supposedly buried beneath the base.

All around the plaza, Astartes were deploying in the plaza by drop pod or digging in around the deflector shield generator. By Horus's orders, the bulk of their guns were turned inwards, towards the generator and the subterranean archaeological dig beneath it that their gene-father was about to enter.

"Warmaster" Captain Grenaldus of the 2nd company saluted as his remaining Astartes assumed position behind him, a faint hum of personal shield generators emanating from the 13 figures. All had discarded their jet packs, pistols, and chainswords in favor of heavier weaponry: flamers, meltas, plasma guns, combi-bolters, and heavy shotguns were racked and prepared.

"We are ready to breach"

Horus ignored the psychopath as he strolled past him and ripped the foot thick bulkhead doors of the tower of their hinges with one swift motion. The Primarch and his guard descended a dozen floors, encountering nothing but empty, cob-web ridden hallways and corridors. There were obvious signs of combat. Burn marks, scratches, and dried blood stains littered the complex but not a single creature or person, living or otherwise was present.

Then the messages started appearing; demented semi-gibberish script splattered over the walls in human blood.

"What is this nonsense?" Captain Cthon snarled behind him.

None of Horus's Space Marines could read any of the gibberish, but the Warmaster could. At first he struggled to remember as it seemed his mind fogged over every time he tried to remember the unknown script. Yet the script was seditiously familiar.

His pupils dilated and his throat went dry as he realized that the messages were written in High Gothic. He sped up his pace as guilt, despair, and fear propelled him through the deserted macabre halls. As the strike team descended further into the complex, dura-steel corridors gave way to crumbling masonry and moss coated granite caverns. Guttural chanting echoed in the distance.

Following the sound, the post human super soldiers barreled ever deeper.

What they found chilled the blood of every single one.

A vast cavern hewn from bedrock, large enough to fit an _Acclamator _class star destroyer stretched before them. Desiccated corpses hung from the ceilings and walls like macabre trophies as rivulets of blood dripped from them. Tens of thousands of monstrous, hunch-backed mutants lay prostrate in deep prayer, ignoring the post human warriors who had stumbled into their warren.

_Rak'ghoul_.

The legendary monsters of the Great Hyperspace war, which nearly over-ran Taris, gutted the Neo-Mandalorian armies on Jebble, and quite nearly over ran the galaxy in a plague of mutant flesh and Sith alchemy.

Horus paid no attention to the deviant filth. His attention was glued to a great pillar of transparent aquamarine glass suspended from the ceiling.

It wore shining golden armor sculpted in facsimile of an Olympian God, statuesque musculature and all. Nearly two times the height of an adult man, great pinioned wings of snow white feathers stretched out from the being's back. Horrifyingly familiar iconography of angelic wings and blood were festooned across its armor. Yet where Horus expected a face, he saw only an unsmiling death mask of purest gold, its empty eye sockets glaring accusatorily at him.

The glass rippled like the surface of a pond hit by a rock as the angelic apparition emerged.

_And it howled_.

~I~

_Ventooine, 3 ABY_

Vaas Montenegro snarled at the towering pillar of homicidal rage before him, heedless of the colossal mace pressed against his head. He smiled as rivulets of blood ran from countless cracks and dents in his Terminator plate; even his Larraman's factor struggled to clot the Primarch wrought wounds on his constitution.

"This is what we are. This is what you made us for. To win wars! To kill!" the 1st captain growled.

"We were meant to bring peace and unity to the galaxy, not drown it in blood"

"It always ends in blood my liege, _always._ You know this, don't you?"

For a few painful seconds, Primarch and Astartes locked eye. Horus blinked, a grim frown settling in on his face.

"_Get out_"

~I~

**Codex Entry: Luna Wolves/Black Legion Part II**

After their actions on Ventooine, Horus stripped the X legion of all their battle honors and regalia, renaming it the Black Legion as a symbol of their disgrace. All of the senior officers of the legion were purged from the Legion's honor rolls and summarily excommunicated from the Principate. This cadre of elite Astartes later became the backbone of the Astral Corsairs, a massive army of mercenaries and other criminal scum that would come to rival the Black Sun syndicate; but that is a story for another day.

In the aftermath of the Ventooine debacle, the warmaster realized that the Principate's moral image could never be restored and so he let the Black Legion loose on a death march. In the span of a year, nearly four hundred systems had been overrun by the X Legion. These post-humans fought with the fury of the damned, desperate to regain the favor of their gene-sire. In those days, the forces of Palpatine rapidly learned to fear the black armored and black hearted monsters of Horus above else.

The victories and feats of the newly christened Black Legion were as horrifying as they were impressive. At Carassa, a strike team of 9th company wiped out an entire Imperial Army corps mustering at the planet's primary star port by infiltrating the orbiting _Golan _class star fortress via stolen freighter and dropping it on the hapless Imperials. Upon Thermopolis IX, 300 devastators of the 5th company stalled a million man Imperial army for three days and three nights. And of course, who can forget the holo-vids of Grenaldus Cthon, the butcher of Anaxes.

Yet for all their accomplishments, the legion has sustained brutal casualties. After the battle for Taris, the legion is down to 50% of its post-Ventooine fighting strength and 65% of its fleet assets are irreparably damaged. If Horus does not end their penance crusade (and associated ban on recruitment) soon, then the legion will likely be combat ineffective within two more years of sustained combat.


End file.
